


Homecoming

by Sarah_M



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 09, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_M/pseuds/Sarah_M
Summary: He misses her when she’s not Earth-side. The way that she’s currently riding him with abandon on his too-often-empty bed, makes him pretty damn sure she misses him too.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know, there's other stuff I should be working on. And yet, here we are.
> 
> As always, thank you to the lovely Sharim28 for taking the time to beta this, and for being the wonderful and magical wizard-unicorn-hybrid that she is.

He misses her when she’s not Earth-side. The way that she’s currently riding him with abandon on his too-often-empty bed, makes him pretty damn sure she misses him too.

They actually made it to the bed this time; that’s a personal best for them. It’s a been a slow progression from the front door, to the sofa, to the hallway. Plus that one time they didn’t quite make it out of his truck. It’s nice that they’re _growing_ as a couple.

When they make love before she leaves, it’s tender and reverent and slow. There’s a hint of desperation in their passion, like they’re both afraid it might be their last time together; an edge of uncertainty that’s feels so much more real now that he’s flying a desk in DC and she’s _out there_.

When she comes home though— _Christ_ —when she comes home to him, she’s a little wild, a little reckless, and completely unrestrained.

This. _This_ is better.

It’s like she’s so damn thankful to be back with him that she fucks him like he’s a homecoming gift.

She's way too good for his ego.

He watches his cock disappear inside her heat each time she withdraws and sinks back down onto him, and he meets her pace with hard, deep upwards thrusts that have her moaning long and guttural as he hits all the right places. She’s a picture of perfection; her skin slicked with sweat, hair tousled and eyes dark and cloudy with desire.

It’s quite the show and he still can’t believe that he gets to have a front row seat.

He takes a perverse sort of pleasure in watching her hips roll in earnest; trying to find better stimulation for her needy clit as he fixates on the sight of her and the place where they join. It’s not the gentlemanly thing to do—to leave her aching and arching for a touch he could be providing for her—but he really likes when she’s vocal, and he knows (he _knows_ ) that in a few more seconds, the things he wants to hear will start to spill from her mouth.

“Touch me, _please_ ,” she whines with a breathy sigh.

Her fingernails bite sharply into the skin of his chest as she clutches desperately at him, raking her nails through the coarse hair there and catching over his nipples. He hisses at the bittersweet sting of it and teases her in response; rolling his thumb over the pebbled peak of her breast in the _way_ she wants, but not in the _place_ that she wants.

She groans, long and low and frustrated.

There’s something intensely gratifying about having her— _Carter_ —wanton above him, asking him to bring her off, even though she could just as easily do it herself. Except, she wants _him_ to do it. He remembers the exact way her soft voice hitched when she first told him that she’s spent years touching herself wishing it was his fingers and not hers. The intimate knowledge sends a surge of male pride rushing through him.

“Please, _what_?” he murmurs, urging her on, thumbing firm, tempting circles at the jut of her hip bone with his other hand.

Close, but not near close enough.

“Please, _sir_ ,” she punctuates the honorific with a squeeze of her inner muscles and an alluring roll of her hips that makes him twitch inside her.

_Fuck._

“That’s better, Colonel.” It would sound a lot more like he was in charge here if didn’t have to grit his teeth to say it, but it obviously works for her anyway—if the little whimper she makes is anything to go by.

He cups her jaw and traces his thumb over her her swollen lips, and she wets it with a lick that she doesn’t actually need; the evidence of her arousal is glistening at the apex of her thighs, and the heady scent of sex lingers heavily in the air around them. She finishes the action with a suggestive suck, a nip of her teeth, and a needy look that _Colonel Carter_ would never give him, but _Samantha Carter_ does.

His hand slowly trails down over her breasts and abdomen towards her slick folds, and she moans her delight as he slips his digit through the wet heat of arousal; swiping the pad of his thumb over her tight bundle of nerves in a practised movement that he knows will have her keening for him.

He loves that he’s had the privilege of learning her body; her curves and her lines, the taste of her sex and the sound she makes when she comes undone against his mouth. He loves the breathy _sirs_ , the pink blush she still gets at her cheeks when she says it, and that she trusts him enough to say it at all. He loves the way they move in sync; the way fit together.

He loves her.

It doesn’t take long to reduce her to a series unintelligible noises and a tight string of expletives that he echos back to her. It’s an erotic mix of her, him, and the distinct sound of sex as they chase towards something primal.

A flush crawls over her skin from her cheeks, down her neck to the curve of her breasts. The muscles of her stomach tense. Her thighs tremble with exertion on either side of him, and her moans take on a shaky quality. _Fuck, he’s missed her._ A familiar, hot pull of tension spreads low in his belly, growing strong and persistent, and he knows he’s not going to be able to hold back much longer.

With his free hand he drags her down towards him for a searing kiss, threading his fingers through her mussed hair and tugging it _just so_ —the way she likes it. He swallows down the moan she makes into his mouth; catching it before it has a chance to ever really leave her.

“Come. Come for me,” he demands gruffly against her lips.

And she does. Loud and hard and so damn _perfect_.

Her fingertips dig into his shoulders (there'll be little marks tomorrow that’ll make her blush) and her frantic movements stall. He can feel her clench and flutter around him and his name falls from her lips over and over, in a mantra that ends with a breathy plea of _come in me_ against the shell of his ear.

It pushes him over the edge.

His pace falters. His eyes slam closed. His cock jerks, and the hot rush of his orgasm races through his body. He empties himself inside her with low grunts of satisfaction muffled into the curve of her neck.

He draws out the last ripples of their release with a few more languid thrusts, until she sags against him; her body relaxed and spent over his. Then it’s a series of much needed heavy breaths, soothing finger strokes and kisses over sensitive, sweat slicked skin.

“Welcome home,” he eventually murmurs, nuzzling her and running his fingers affectionately through the short, blonde strands of her hair.

“Missed you,” she mumbles back, satiated and boneless.

It’s ridiculous how gratifying that is.

He brushes his lips gently over the freckles on her shoulder and starts recommitting them to memory by placing a kiss at each one.

“Missed you too.”


End file.
